Unrefined Data Entries
by Shenaniganary
Summary: A series of drabbles too small to be their own stories but large enough to warrant individual chapters. Updated whenever another is written. Most/None will not have any connection to any of the others.


**These stories are a series of drabbles. Most if not all of them are or will be written as a response to art I see on tumblr. Most will not be continued beyond this point.**

* * *

><p><strong>Lobster Bisque<strong>

"Kaldur, I know you're Atlantean and that it goes without saying that your social standards are different than ours," Roy began, staring at the dark-skinned Atlantean with narrowed eyes, "But last I checked we're the good guys and good guys don't _steal lobsters from seafood restaurants_."

The other hero had the grace to look ashamed. For the four seconds it took for him to open his mouth again, "I know, Roy, and I understand that Human and Atlantean societies will never see eye-to-eye on every matter put between us, but not even your society condones these actions. This restaurant is _boiling them alive_. How can I just sit here while I know that innocent creatures are being tortured to death?"

Roy sighed and rubbed a palm over his face. Really. Sometimes he wondered why he evened bothered with this guy. Not to say that he didn't like him; sometimes Kaldur was the one spot of sanity in this life, especially when having to deal with both the League and the Sidekick-Young Justice constantly on his ass for something or other, but this was a little ridiculous. On the scale of one-to-ten on the Saving-From-Death scale, Lobsters didn't even really rank high on it. They certainly hadn't been on it before Kaldur had shown up at his door, his face grim and slightly pinched which was his version of seriously distraught. Roy had thought he'd come to ask for some sort of favor, maybe something undercover as a return for what he'd done for Roy during the peace summit, but when Kaldur had sat him down on his threadbare, fourthhand couch, and placed himself across from him with his webbed-hands clasped before him and promptly declared he needed Roy's help to free crustaceans, he'd begun to think he needed to find a new set of standards.

"I would not ask this of you if it were not important, Roy," Murmured Kaldur quietly, his silver-white eyes searching Roy's face, "But I cannot stand by and let them be killed for profit. I can't."

And the thing was, he really couldn't. Kaldur was a nice guy. He was a great guy, actually, and (if Roy was being honest which was hard enough to be with himself) a damn good leader. He would know the risks of doing something like this, especially the consequences when the League found out (and they would find out. They had fucking Batman on their side and the man probably knew the exact moment when one of them sneezed) and what would happen to him if he brought in the team to do this.

So he'd come to Roy, because if anyone could be convinced to do this despite (or maybe because) of what would happen once they got caught, Roy would be the one to agree to it, if only because it was _interesting_. And they were friends, as much as he and Kaldur could be anyway, with having to juggle being a hero against him being able to afford it and Kaldur having to split his time between the surface and the ocean _and_ leading his team. How the guy managed it, Roy would never be able to figure out.

It meant something, too, that Kaldur would come to _him_ of all people to help. It meant something big. _I Trust You_, big. Someone _trusted_ him; trusted him enough to go to _him_ for help instead of his team or his mentor or anyone else. That wasn't something he'd really expected to have. Not after Ollie. Not after the League. And so it really wasn't all that surprising that he found himself nodding in agreement. Kaldur trusted him, trusted him to support him and help him do something. And if it happened to be a little illegal, at least it was the right thing to do anyway. Roy had never been much of a by-the-books kind of guy anyway.

"Fine," He said, rising to his feet, "Fine. All right. Let's do this."

Hours later, half-soaked and with more welts on his fingers and arms and places he just didn't want to think about anymore, Roy had a bathtub full of lobsters and an exhausted Atlantean asleep on his shoulder.

Not a bad way to end a Tuesday, all things considered. Not a bad way at all.


End file.
